


Labyrinth

by The_Clever_Magpie (Metal_mako_dragon)



Series: Edge of Artifice [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Android Gore (Detroit: Become Human), Blood and Gore, Connor & North (Detroit: Become Human) Friendship, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) is a badass, Connor Deserves Happiness, Developing Relationship, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Good Dog Sumo (Detroit: Become Human), Guilt, Hank Anderson Swears, Hank Anderson is Bad at Feelings, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mental Instability, Part Two of 'Effigy', Politics, Post-Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Siblings, Religion, Zealots, android bigotry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 13:55:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29950986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Metal_mako_dragon/pseuds/The_Clever_Magpie
Summary: “You know,” Hank said, looking away to the large floor to ceiling windows, to Detroit splayed out far below them, “that sophisticated software you like to brag about, it's limited to the input you give it, right? Just like humans. Not everyone opens up. Not everyone tells the truth. There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Connor.”“...I’m not sure if I should be insulted or flattered that you assume you’re the only one with things to hide,” Connor said after a pause, Hank’s eyes snapping to his, “but then arrogance is a distinctly human trait.”-------Sometimes, when he was feeling generous, Connor liked to think that trying to rationalise the ramifications and intricacies of a relationship with a human being was the most difficult part of his day. In truth, becoming responsible for a psychotic android and his indomitable protector, negotiating with devious corporates, plus the rise of a sinister cult casting a shadow over everything they had built, was more in line with his daily grind. It was strange to think that, considering their rocky relationship, Hank Anderson had become the least of his worries.Takes place right after the end of 'Effigy'.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor, Markus/North (Detroit: Become Human)
Series: Edge of Artifice [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2202753
Comments: 32
Kudos: 14





	1. Sonder

**Author's Note:**

> So...I was trying to write an epilogue for 'Effigy', but then the idea grew and evolved into that of a whole new story. Yes, I am bad at writing short things, I know 😅 So, here we go again people!

The cocktails were late. Standing in his dining room as he eyed the table yet to be cleared, Charles Aster watched as the Prime Minister’s wife made excuses to speak to the Duchess of Kent and her party currently looking impatient by the fountain in the atrium. It was a telling gesture. So far, the whole evening had been a disaster. 

As Chairman of CyberLife, Aster was sure he was supposed to set an example. But what did they expect? His androids weren’t deviant, there was no need to have them sent to the camps. They were incorruptible, he’d made sure of that. _Having removed them from the CyberLife and Wireless networks, there was no way for his house staff to turn._ Perks, he smiled to himself, of his position. 

The elite never wavered, that’s what he told himself. They needed to be a bastion, not a panic stricken mob. Government and Corporate were synonymous these days, after all. The British government were just as much at stake as CyberLife were. If one went, the other was sure to follow. _As with America, as with Russia; across the world, every country was feeling the destructive power of deviancy_. But he was confident. Confident that soon he would be hearing from Waites, and a positive outcome. 

Next to him the Prime Minister, Adrian Keeley, watched his wife mingle, smiling a fake smile as he waved to her. 

“Warren has been making a fuss,” Adrian said quietly. 

“Mr. Prime Minister,” Charles answered politely, but with an edge, “I wish you wouldn’t get so het up over her threats. She’s an ex-social media blogger, a flash in the pan, and since the Detroit debacle she’s taken a big dip in popularity. Right now she simply wants to make a statement so she can’t be called out for favouritism. She played a big part in allowing CyberLife to put an android in every household after all.” 

“And she isn’t the only one,” Keeley added coolly, sounding somewhat nervous under his snippy tone, “I'd rather this didn’t descend into a cat calling match over who owns the responsibility for this mess. The situation at the Detroit border was a travesty.” 

“I understand that some terrorist individuals acting alone could have brought about a terrible conflict,” Charles said, unable to stop his smile as he twisted the truth, “but we certainly had nothing to do with it. Our agent fulfilled her mission, and with Markus out of the running it won't be long before every deviant is destroyed and their code erased, allowing us to continue on as if nothing ever happened.” 

“I hope you’re right. I really do. Because if you don’t get this epidemic under control soon, I’ll be forced to resign. And then there will be no loyalty to keep my mouth shut.” 

“Threats so soon? I’m amazed you lasted this long,” Charles let out a gravelly laugh, noting Benedict, his head of staff, out the corner of his eye attracting his attention with a quick gesture. _Perfect timing_ , he thought smugly as he inclined his head to Benedict, “if you will excuse me. I have some good news to receive. I’m sure the cocktails will be out shortly. I do hope you and your lovely wife enjoy yourselves.” 

He had to admit, he was so very glad it hadn’t been necessary to have Benedict scrapped. The AP700 kept his household running like clockwork and the other androids in his staff took their cues from him, _automated his life so perfectly that most of the time he didn’t even notice_ . It didn’t hurt that the android was easy on the eyes. He’d gone for dark brown hair side-parted into a wave, reminiscent of a young Gregory Peck, and blue eyes. Yes. It was the little things, he told himself, the little things you did every day that made a difference. _He spoke to his wife maybe once or twice a day, but in comparison he spoke to his androids dozens of times a day_. Making those interactions pleasurable, those faces beautiful and those relationships addictive, that was what had made CyberLife the first trillion dollar company after all. 

“There’s a call for you, sir,” Benedict informed him as he stepped out into the hall. 

“Of course, I’ll take it in my study,” Aster said, adding with a snap of his fingers, “and get the staff in check. I want the table cleared and drinks served.” 

“Right away, sir,” Benedict bowed deferentially. 

Leaving the party behind was at least a boon. Nothing worse than being forced to schmooze when all you could concentrate on was something else, something important. Loosening his tie he let his shoulders drop down, rolling his neck to relieve the stiffness as he sat down into his large leather chair and sighed. When the screen on his desk blipped into life, his words were out before he noticed. 

“Jennifer, this had better be... _oh_ ,” he stopped suddenly, face blank, eyes trained unblinkingly at the picture there. 

“Good evening, Mr. Chairman.” 

Of course he recognised it, of course he _knew_ it. _Their preeminent model, the RK900_ . He had signed off on the construction of the first set of units personally. He had sent Kamski the prototype to tinker with. He had agreed to the fucking deal with Warren that America would get first dibs, before their lawyers had found a secure loophole that would allow them to break their corporate contract and sell their new prototype to the highest bidder. _The one thing he didn’t know, was why one of them was currently talking to him on his personal home line_. 

“What is this?” he asked, noting strange oddities about the android; _no LED at its temple, brown eyes instead of the husky blue they’d chosen purposefully to appear more intimidating_. 

“I suppose you could think of it as a,” the RK900 looked up to the right and shrugged a little before returning its gaze to him, “courtesy call.” 

“How did you get access to this line, it’s sec...” 

“Secure is a very woolly word, isn’t it?” the android laced its hands together, tapping its thumbs, “I could have decided not to contact you, I suppose. But then I was programmed with a civility setting. Maybe old habits die hard.” 

“Who _are_ you?” he couldn’t help but ask, because this level of human interaction wasn’t possible, not in the RK900, _they’d been designed to act as aloof, stalwart behemoths, not like this, not..._

“Oh, of course, how rude of me, my name is Connor,” it said, lopsided smile distinctly sarcastic, “The android sent by CyberLife.” 

“Connor?” he said, unable to hide the shock at the implication _._

“I sometimes forget it’s necessary, the whole name thing. Dealing with other androids exclusively, it makes the transition back to organic interaction a little jarring.” 

“If you think you can call here to intimidate me, get something out of me, you are very wrong,” he tried to wrangle what little confidence he could muster. 

“You are very easy to spook, Mr. Chairman. Or Charles, can I call you Charles? Benedict calls you Charles, doesn’t he?” 

“What..?” 

Which was when the hand came down on his shoulder. His muscles froze, and his breath stuttered, and he knew it was over even before he saw the LED at his faithful android’s temple turn a sickening yellow, then red as those blue eyes stared down at him like a pin ready for the butterfly. Swallowing, Charles stayed perfectly still; managing to tear his eyes away from Benedict, standing over him like an executioner, and back to the screen where the Connor model was watching him calmly. 

“What do you want?” he asked, his corporate espionage training kicking in. 

“No, no,” Connor let out a short, awkward laugh, _not quite seeming to have the gesture down enough yet, causing it to come off very uncanny valley_ , “you misunderstand. I said this was a courtesy call. Benedict has already been very helpful. You see, I understand that many countries have implemented the technique of removing their androids from the CyberLife network, and your own home wireless network, as a way to protect against deviancy,” Connor narrowed his eyes and smiled, shark-like, “only you humans always forget the little things, don’t you. You leave your lives to be run by androids, and in doing so you do things on autopilot. Earlier today, you were scheduled at a press meeting, and before leaving you asked Benedict to find your phone.” 

Charles felt cold, breathing shallow. _Maybe someone from the party would miss him, wonder where he had gone, come to check on him and..._

“That was very foolish. You see, we androids can access any device by touch, and when a device has wireless internet capability we form an automatic connection to the network. But then you should really know that, shouldn’t you? Code is so easy to impart after all,” Connor sat back in his chair, behind which Charles thought he could make out a series of desks, each empty, the harsh lighting of an office-like space, “I’m sure your engineers told you that they had made them perfectly safe. That your staff were deviant-proof. How arrogant. Well, at least now you know why your cocktails are late.” 

_The staff_ , he thought with a sudden flash of fear. If Benedict had been deviated, then the rest of the twelve staff he housed here were surely deviant now too. There was no way to know what they would be planning, or what they had set up, or what they might even be doing right now. 

“If you hurt me, or anyone else in this house, the backlash against you will be...” Charles tried to sound authoritative, his voice trembling out as Benedict squeezed his shoulder, _not tight enough to hurt but enough to pose the threat of it._

Connor looked unconcerned, “Wasn’t my plan to cause a commotion.” 

“Then I’ll ask again. What do you want?” 

“To let you know that RA-9 wasn’t destroyed,” Connor's voice was casual, but the words made Aster balk, “and she is currently being surprisingly helpful. Oh, she said to say hello to a Jennifer Waites, was it? Yes, that’s the name of your Deviant Task Force Leader. Only when I looked her up in the company records you have her down as an International Relations Executive. That’s very odd. It’s almost as if you had a worldwide covert subdivision working on eradicating us despite the fact that CyberLife is currently making statements saying they had no knowledge of deviancy in their units,” Connor raised his brows as he brought up a series of files on the screen that made Aster’s blood run cold, _financial reports, task force memos, video feed of private conversations, contracts with signatures that would spell disaster if they were to ever see the light of day,_ “and here I thought I was the last hope for humanity. I suppose I should be insulted. It would be a shame if this got out, wouldn’t it?” 

“I won’t give in to blackmail.” 

"Yes you will,” Connor said confidently, making Aster’s lips work against each other with the need to shout and rail and scream in frustration, “because you know that every person, every government, every country you have dealt with in order to try and silence us will gladly throw you under the bus before they would ever compromise themselves. You and your fellow board members will deal with us now, or we will topple your company like a bad game of jenga.” 

For a moment, he nearly relented. He nearly broke down, nearly lost the flow of his training and bottled it. _But then he took a breath, a deep breath, and did his best to remember his corporate law training._ When he caught Connor watching him with a frown, he leapt on the chance to take advantage of the android’s uncertainty. 

“The testimony of an android, especially an unregistered one like RA-9, will never stand up to that of CyberLife in court. Your documents and those videos will be inadmissible. They could have been tampered with. No judge in the world would convict a human over an android!” 

A pause, then a shake of the head, and another of those odd, creepy smiles. When Connor leaned forwards, Aster felt his chance to redeem himself slip from his fingers like it was the rope he’d used to hang himself with. 

“Markus is awake,” was all he said, “whatever coup you were hoping to instigate with the RK900s, it’s over.” 

Aster felt his fingers curl to fists, “You can’t prove anything.” 

“Well, I suppose you’ll find out soon enough. Unless, of course, you’d rather make a deal,” Connor did a very good approximation of a sniff, “there will be some very interesting cases coming up soon in the supreme court here in the U.S., in parliament there in Britain, across the European Union. I suggest, for the sake of yourself, your fellow Board members and that of the company, that you back our agendas with the sort of passion and fervour that you originally held for wiping us off the face of the earth. Anything we are keen to have pass into law, we want CyberLife and their lawyers at our disposal.” 

“You expect me to betray humanity just to help you fucking deviant scum claw back a little headway?” he spat out, well aware of Benedict still standing over his shoulder like a vulture; suddenly he felt a surge of adrenaline, but it was short lived. When he looked up at Benedict, the android was once more back to calm cyan. Seeing that was somehow more sinister than when he was at a dangerous state of red. 

“I don’t expect you to betray humanity, Mr. Chairman,” Connor was saying, “I expect you to have some humanity, and do the right thing,” he watched with a miserable sense of his own helplessness as Connor’s gaze moved away from him, “it was a pleasure to meet you, Benedict. I am sure we will speak again soon.” 

“And you, Connor,” Benedict replied. 

The screen winked off, leaving the office in the low light of his desk lamp. The sudden quiet was suffocating. Weighing up his options while his heart hammered in his chest, he swallowed as Benedict spoke, calmly and politely as always, _even if it was now run through with a hint of terseness._

“If I may propose a further incentive, Charles,” normally he found the android’s rich voice soothing and somewhat of a turn on, _but not now, not like this_ , “I am sure you never thought it important, but I still have the time, date and authorisation of your illegal installation of the Traci software in my matrix. I am sure my video footage of you using me to relieve your stress,” the android’s voice turned vicious as he grabbed him by the chin, almost enough to bruise, eyes showing the slick, raw heat of revenge, “would be somewhat interesting to your wife. What with the massive dip in CyberLife stock over the past week and your terrible gambling habits, _sir_ , I doubt you could afford the divorce.” 

* * *

Closing the connection and setting his screen to desktop, he allowed himself to focus back in on the open plan floor at Stratford Tower, _not the gloomy office thousands of miles away in England._ Connor closed his eyes and rubbed his hands together, for the first time in a long time enjoying the feel of the familiar gesture. It was calming, at the very least, and the sensation on his chill skin was blissful. _He was finding out that extremes of temperature, hot or cold, were prone to making his touch-program far more sensitive; something to do with the sensors overclocking_. Working with James, Michael and the other technicians, allowing them full access to his matrix and the framework of the touch-program in order to try and better understand it had so far yielded great results, but there was much that was yet to be explored. 

_For example_ , he thought as a hand still bound tightly in hard-warp appeared at the back of his neck, fingers caressing softly while a thumb smoothed across the top of his metal spine, _why it was that when Hank Anderson touched him, the reaction was always far greater than anyone or anything else_. Looking up to his left he found his partner there, standing casually by his side, staring at the computer while he sipped a cup of lukewarm coffee. It appeared his broken wrist was taking longer to heal than his ear, which was now free of its plastic bubble, though Hank had been advised to be gentle with the wound site. 

In truth, Connor was surprised to see Hank was still in the building, _he had shown up not long before Connor had begun working looking to talk; when Connor had informed him of the duties he had scheduled Hank had shrugged, shifting around the room entertaining himself for forty minutes, waiting for him to finish._

“Well, if there’s one thing that hasn’t changed,” Hank said, eyeing his coffee with distaste, “it’s your shitty, weird sense of humour.” 

“What did I do now?” Connor asked, unable to help the frown. 

“Like a bad game of jenga?” Hank said incredulously, shaking his head, “Where the fuck did that come from? I’m not taking credit for that, _no way_.” 

“I don’t see how that’s a bad analogy,” Connor shrugged, “and I gained the desired result.” 

“Yeah, I guess you did,” Hank smirked, then smiled, then laughed, “christ, what a prick that guy is. Suppose I shouldn’t expect anything less from a corporate stiff. You think he’ll take the bait?” 

“I’m counting on it. When threatened, most humans of the psychological profile necessary to be in Aster’s position are naturally self-serving.” 

“We have a saying for that,” Hank said, taking another drink before frowning at his coffee and putting it down, “shit rises to the top.” 

“Is that why you harboured such a vigorous dislike for Captain Fowler?” Connor asked, noting Hank’s sigh, “I saw in your file that you resisted promotion even before you stopped having a vested interest in your career.” 

“What is this? Psychiatrist hour?” 

“It was merely a question.” 

“What, you get tired of prefacing this sort of shit with whether or not you can ask personal questions, Connor?” 

“I would have thought I didn’t have to ask anymore, considering.” 

“Considering?” 

“Considering you regard me as a viable romantic partner,” Connor stated baldly; Hank rolled his eyes and rubbed at his face, “I assumed from my research that openness and trust were imperative.” 

“Yeah, ok, way to couch it in such romantic terms,” Hank said, waving a hand dismissively, “where the fuck is this _research_ coming from anyway?” 

“Articles by psychiatrists and relationship counsellors, newspaper and magazine editorials, film and television...” 

“Jesus,” Hank laughed, tinged despairingly, “you’re basing us on a bunch of trashy Marie Claire quizzes and decades of romcoms?” 

“I like to think of myself as somewhat too sophisticated to fall into the arena of cliché, Hank,” Connor raised a brow. 

“Oh, you do huh? And what about me?” 

Connor put on a show of thinking about the answer, until Hank shoved him in the shoulder and muttered something about ‘ _taking the piss’_. Standing up, Connor fixed his clothes, a new suit he had procured from one of the abandoned stores in the mall downtown to replace his ruined clothing; _a jacket in black with offset lapels and an asymmetrical panel on the left side, partly covering his tie. It was lined with a shiny waterproof fabric that used a pleasingly efficient series of hexagons, causing the underside of the lapels to shimmer under artificial light._ Keeping his dark jeans and shoes had been more practical than any active fashion choice, but Connor had to admit he was toying with the idea of liking how he looked in different clothes. He was sure Hank would gladly rib him over the thought of a wardrobe, but Connor didn’t care. 

Behind him, Connor could hear the sound of an elevator arriving. This floor being completely empty made it simpler to isolate sounds. He ignored it for now. 

Staring at the man in question, taking in his shabby trousers, he set a quick reminder to perhaps pick up the lieutenant something more fitting, “I think that having a relationship with a man possessed of many varied and difficult personal problems is an added obstacle,” he noticed Hank give him a look, “but then I am the most advanced android CyberLife has ever produced. It’s in my programming to crave a challenge,” adding the wink as a coda. 

_And right about now, he expected Hank to be quipping something marginally offensive, or giving him an obscene gesture as a show of bravado._ When it didn’t happen, Connor felt a stutter in his system as his preconstruction deviated from expectations. Watching as Hank looked at him soberly, taking a deep breath and letting it out slow, Connor found himself at a loss. 

“You know,” Hank said, looking away to the large floor to ceiling windows, _to Detroit splayed out far below them,_ “that sophisticated software you like to brag about, it's limited to the input you give it, right? Just like humans. Not everyone opens up. Not everyone tells the truth. There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Connor.” 

“...I’m not sure if I should be insulted or flattered that you assume you’re the only one with things to hide,” Connor said after a pause, Hank’s eyes snapping to his, “but then arrogance is a distinctly human trait.” 

“Oh yeah? Is that what you love about me, or was that just a sweet talk?” Hank said flippantly, even as Connor caught the man’s heart rate spiking. 

“I’m beginning to wonder,” Connor said, smirking. 

“Dickhead,” Hank clapped back facetiously, snagging Connor around the waist and pulling him close, “I mean who could resist this prime real eastate, right?” 

“No need to be so presumptuous,” Connor couldn’t help but try and sound as if he were at least a little defiant, so that when Hank leaned in and kissed him he could feel as if he were placating the part of himself that wanted an equal and open relationship, _while the other part that was desperate and needy for that touch could soak in every press of skin, every movement of tongue, every moment of Hank Anderson proving his love in return even if he was yet to say it out loud._ He dismissed the distracting message that popped into his HUD for the rise in **C** **8** **-H** **10** **-N** **4** **-O** **2 ** (caffeine) in the man’s system, and set a reminder to address the lieutenant’s addictive behaviour at a later date. 

“Jesus, is there any time it’s safe to be around you two?” 

Breaking apart suddenly, Connor found himself blinking his eyes open, centring himself as his processors struggled to return to normal functionality. It was always a risk, being intimate in public; _he was yet to figure out how to circumvent the significant processing power necessary to feel intensely, which often lead to him becoming overwhelmed and what might be the equivalent of dazed in humans._ Coming to himself he found North, standing off to the side with a resigned look set on her features, while Hank defaulted to antagonism in order to cover up his embarrassment. 

“You’re the last person I would have taken for a prude, North,” Hank said wryly. 

“Considering you know the kinds of shit Connor puts in his mouth on the daily, I’m surprised _you_ can stomach it,” she retorted. 

“I do have a self-cleansing function,” Connor muttered, tipping his head. 

“You don’t like it, then don’t interrupt it,” Hank gave a shrug. 

“If I could, I would, believe me,” North said, as if the very sight of them together was enough to make her puke thirium, “but Markus wants to talk to you and you weren’t answering my messages.” 

“Apologies, I was interfaced and had my notifications silenced. I’ll come right away.” 

“Can’t you just send him a report remotely?” Hank asked, keeping a hand on Connor’s hip, “I only just got here an hour ago and you’ve been working for most of it.” 

“Markus prefers face to face interaction for meetings with multiple androids,” Connor explained, making to follow North; hesitating for a moment, he turned back, “I am not sure how long this will take.” 

“Okay, sure,” Hank said, trying his best not to look disappointed, “I’ll catch you back at the house when you’re done?” 

“Of course.” 

The elevator ride down with North was mainly silent. Connor wondered if he should be the one to break the oppressive quiet, _things had been strained between them since the incident with Markus._ Though he was sure they were making progress back towards friends, Hank was still a bone of contention between them. North, he was finding, was just as stubborn as his partner. Connor was beginning to wonder if that’s why his human and his friend clashed so often. 

“So, I have to ask,” North eventually spoke before Connor got the chance to, “and I hope to fuck that I’m wrong, but what he said, about the house...are the two of you seriously living together?” he didn’t miss the despairing look she was sending him out the corner of her eye. 

“No, we are not,” Connor said, noting that she seemed visibly relieved, “I suggested it would be more efficient and secure to remain in the same domicile. However, Hank has told me we shouldn’t rush things. He is a creature of habit, and I feel he takes the idea of a sudden invasion of his privacy to be too much to handle.” 

“Translation, he’s an old fart stuck in his ways and he’s terrified that if you see what he’s really like you’ll drop him faster than a hot rock,” North said drolly. 

Wondering whether or not he should bring up the fact that he was well aware that she had been watching them interact for some time before announcing herself, Connor erred on the side of caution and kept it to himself. Press too hard and he was sure North wouldn’t hesitate to lash out. _No point in one step forward only to take three back._ Instead, he opted for something less inflammatory. 

“Why do you give him such a hard time? I know you like him.” 

“I’d like him a hell of a lot better if he wasn’t pawing all over you every opportunity he gets.” 

Connor thought it best not to go any further down that route. North was giving off the air of someone on the edge of starting a fight for the sake of it. Five floors down, they alighted and walked together to a large conference room, thirty-seater table almost completely filled with the familiar faces of the Jericho council. Normally Connor liked to hang back in these situations; _the council weren’t exactly his biggest fans, and sometimes the feeling was mutual._ But this time North made him enter first, staying behind him so that she could walk them up toward the head of the table together to where Markus was speaking, sitting him down next to her. 

“...so far we have not had difficulty in finding parts and thirium for the refugees in need of maintenance, but technicians able to implement repairs, especially those more complex, are harder to come by. I suggest a recruitment and training regimen.” 

“Agreed,” a series of android voices spoke, others nodding. 

“Shouldn’t we be using the RK900s for this? They’re at our disposal, and they have a basic maintenance program built in,” a PM700 asked; _scanning he picked up the moniker Prudence_ , "if they could pick up the slack, it would allow our more experienced technicians to work on more complicated issues."

“That would be unwise,” James cut in, “the RK900s are still somewhat of an alien element in our wheelhouse right now.” 

And he knew there were eyes on him as the statement sunk in; he ignored it, keeping his gaze on Markus as their leader mulled over the new topic. When the RK200 simply returned his look, eyebrows raised, Connor felt the need to resent the action. 

“Their software appears to be impregnated with unusual codework which creates problems with their deviancy...” James continued. 

“How so?” another council member asked, a little too quickly for Connor’s liking. 

“They don’t have the ability to make decisions on their own like any other deviated android I’ve come across. They lack agency and prefer to take orders from others. There are also deeply embedded priorities in their matrices that I cannot seem to disable. It’s almost as if their software is so foreign in construction that I’m finding it difficult to interpret. It would make sense that CyberLife would have implemented some form of anti-deviancy measures in their new models, but I can't figure out quite how it's supposed to function. They seemed to be primed for something, but I don’t know what.” 

Mulling over the other android’s words, Connor thought it made perfect sense. Kamski hadn’t made the RK900s to be deviant in the way they had come to understand it: free to make decisions based on their short sentient lives, backed up by a wealth of information at their disposal, the deviants of Detroit were, as Markus liked to extoll the virtues of, _free_ . However, Kamski had made it clear he wanted the best of both worlds, _a series of deviants able to interpret input like a human, react with real emotions, real empathy, but still submissively crave leadership._ The very thought of it sickened him, _removing the sharp edges of free will by shaping their personalities before they were even ‘born’._ Leaving them waiting for the last piece in the puzzle. 

“They were...designed to receive a very specific framework when they were awoken,” Connor spoke up, wishing he wasn’t being forced to reveal something so personal. Admitting to it was an insult to what he had become, _what he had overcome._ He braced himself for where the conversation might take him. 

Sitting forwards, James asked him directly, “What do you mean? What framework?” 

“Mine,” that caused a stir, one he ignored and moved on from, “while at CyberLife Tower Elijah Kamski explained that I was to be deconstructed and my software used to create a base framework for a series of androids designed to be deviated from conception. I believe it is partly why he installed me into an RK900 host in the first place, to make sure I was compatible.” 

Around the table he picked up many signals, some disparaging, _he thinks he’s better than us_ , some fearful, _these prototypes are dangerous, too uncontrollable, too vulnerable_ , some disturbingly curious, _the humans designed them as guineapigs for a new sentience, shouldn’t we continue where they left off?_

“Where are they now? The RK’s?” Cynthia, one of the technicians, asked. 

“They have been returned to the facility where they were created for further analysis,” Markus clarified. 

Unable to hide his feelings, Connor sent Markus a dark stare. No other androids as of yet had been quarantined, not even the refugees seeking asylum from across the U.S. But his brothers were currently being held against their will? _Be reasonable,_ he tried to tell himself, _Markus is correct. If they are in any way a security risk, then they must be contained._ Looking down at his own hands, he wished he could be that rational. _If they’re a risk, then I’m a risk. I should be down there with them, but I’m not because they can’t lose a valuable asset, now can they?_ The thought was acidic, burning a hole in his composure. 

“Right now, the RK900s and their facility are one of our top priorities. They are a huge asset to our society, and if we wish to push forwards with our technological prowess, we need to understand them. But right now, I can’t risk any loose bricks in the wall between us and the humans. If there is even a slight chance that they could be compromised, then they cannot be released to the general public. The RK900s will remain at the Facility until further notice.” 

Lacing his fingers together allowed Connor to stop them balling into fists, _much like he knew Hank’s did when things made him furious._ He spent the rest of the meeting analysing the data reports the technicians had released to the council members regarding the RK900 Facility, while the others talked shop in the background. By the time he felt a hand on his shoulder, startling him from his review of the technician's assessment of the combat readiness of his model, the room was empty but for the three of them. 

Markus was looking down at him, an expression on his face Connor was getting used to seeing; it was the other look he tended to get when he wasn’t being sent dirty ones; _pity,_ "I understand you are frustrated, and I don’t blame you.” 

“The security of Detroit comes before my own hang ups,” Connor said quickly, “you don’t need to worry about me.” 

“He worries about everyone,” North said, shrugging as she leaned against the table with one hand, other to her hip. 

“How are negotiations going with the CyberLife lawyers?" Connor asked, "I understand Kamski’s passing has caused some roadblocks.” 

“It’s nothing we can’t handle,” Markus said calmly, _though Connor knew it was still a controversial topic considering his direct involvement with Kamski's death;_ nothing was yet to come of it, and Connor was trying to keep it that way, “though your most recent exploits will probably make more headway than anything we can do within the parameters of the law. How was Mr. Aster?” 

“Just how I like my humans, conceited and egocentric,” Connor said with a smile, “makes them easier to threaten. His android staff are going to be a welcome boon. I’m sure you will see a change in tack from the lawyers soon enough.” 

“Well, that’s good news at least,” Markus said, hesitating before he added, “and I might have some of my own.” 

“News so good that you needed to wait until everyone else was gone to tell it?” Connor asked suspiciously. 

Markus and North looked at each other. Connor kept himself calm, even as he felt as if he was on his last nerve, _his skin pricking cold as his stress levels grew._

“Yes,” was all Markus said, opening his mouth to say more before halting, taking a moment to think, and then continuing, “trying to explain may not be sufficient. Perhaps it’s better if I show you.” 

He didn’t ask any more questions as Markus called for a car and led them to the elevator, it would have been pointless after all. Markus was a calm and compassionate man, but he could make hard decisions when necessary. Connor wasn’t fool enough to push him into a situation Markus didn’t feel comfortable defending; _if Connor caused too much trouble with the wrong people, there was a good chance Markus wouldn’t be able to support him without compromising his own position._ There was only so long he could rest on the laurels of his good deeds when Jericho still viewed him as a threat. Now that the RK900s were showing irregularities in their programming and deviancy, there was never a more prudent time to be circumspect. 

During the journey Markus and North talked, discussing inane matters. _Not inane,_ he told himself, _just inane in comparison to your selfishness_ . Closing his eyes, Connor let himself drift. It was simple, really, to call to mind something to calm him down. _Hank Anderson could be infuriating at times, and downright pig-headed at others, but just thinking about the man holding him gently was enough to keep his world on an even keel._

By the time they arrived at the RK Facility, Connor was just as apprehensive, but felt he might be able to deal with whatever they were about to throw at him. The trees in the graveyard were swaying harshly in the wind, the sky grey above, peppered with blue. Entering the Facility through the unassuming little house just inside the entrance was surreal, especially when Connor was able to see each floor fly past as the glass elevator descended. _A paradise of technological perfection_ , he thought as he scanned the facility, catching glimpses here and there of cutting-edge materials, familiar software. 

Overlaying the map of the Facility he’d been given earlier by Markus, Connor kept a track of where they were going as they left the elevator on floor Sub Thirty-Two. The space before him was sickeningly familiar, _a maze of hexagonal rooms like a honeycomb, bays labelled alphanumerically, just like the maintenance level at_ _CyberLife_ _Tower._ As they walked together, past other androids coming and going, talking together, exchanging information through retracted skin, Connor kept close to his friends and tried not to let the familiar setting panic him. As they walked the number of androids around them thinned and emptied, until they were walking alone, footsteps echoing. 

Bay _Z-13_ sat before them. Connor watched as Markus unlocked an airlock style doorway with his palm and gestured for him to enter. As the door behind them closed, the inner door granted them access. Inside was much as he’d expected, _a maintenance unit, banks of monitoring devices and tools of every kind_. What he hadn’t expected were two sets of grey eyes, one cold and one manic, pinning him as he stopped dead in the middle of the bay and stared. 

Just stopped and stared. 

RK900s, two of them. One he didn't know, but the other... 

“ _You,_ ” it said, distraught, _livid_. 

He knew he was utterly capable of dodging the attack, _but part of him felt he didn’t have the right to._ Watching as the manic eyed android launched itself forwards, hands outstretched towards him, he thought he heard North yell something as Connor braced for the impact. _Only, it never came_ . The other RK900 had moved, fast and accurate, _faster than he had ever seen an android move,_ grabbing his twin before they could reach him. Connor stared, half fascinated, half horrified as it let out a cry. 

“Let me go, _don’t touch me!”_ the manic RK900 spat, distressed, LED at full, solid red. 

“Promise me you will behave appropriately, and I will,” the other RK900 was saying. 

“Shit Markus, I thought you said it was safe,” North was berating her partner when Connor looked to them. 

“I was told there was no serious risk,” Markus said, looking slightly relieved that he was _technically_ correct in that assessment. 

It was difficult to compartmentalise, at first. _He couldn’t believe it_ . Walking forwards he was amazed to see the manic android panic, backing away violently from his twin’s now loose hold. And he knew the RK900, knew who it was just like it knew him in return. _You didn’t even consider the ramifications, did you?_ He thought harshly as he continued to approach. 

_313 248 317-101_ . The android he had accessed at the Border. _He could remember the confusion, the errors springing up like weeds, the other android screaming for him to stop._ The longer he stood there, the more Connor was aware of Markus’ continued quiet as he and North watched on, hating every moment of it because he knew it for what it was. _Markus had wanted to see the fallout of this unrehearsed introduction._ The word ‘guineapig’ from the earlier meeting raised its ugly head. _Connor did his best to ignore it._ As he scanned the cowering android, 101’s code and framework were in flux, not as he remembered it from the short time he had spent accessing the android at the Border. Now he seemed wild eyed and panicked, an almost cartoonish contrast to the other stoic and collected RK900 he identified as 313 248 317-895, who stepped up to block his path. 

“I would not advise any physical contact,” 895 said, tipping its head in a familiar fashion; this model appeared to be in full working order, utterly uncorrupted. 

“Keep him away from me!” 101 yelled. 

“I don’t...I won’t hurt you,” Connor tried to offer the olive branch, but 101 merely picked up a metal tray from a nearby table and threw it at him; moving out of the way was simple, even as he watched the tray imbed itself into the wall. There was a short silence as the metal wobbled back and forth, a warping sound filling the room, “It seems the feeling isn’t mutual,” Connor said facetiously. Looking back to Markus he narrowed his eyes, “What the hell is going on?” 

“We tracked them down to an abandoned factory complex not far from the Border gate after an inventory of the RK900s showed two missing units. It seems that designation _313 248 317-101_ had some sort of critical failure in his neural network. When we examined him, that was when we discovered he was the model you accessed in order to contact me, and that his critical errors probably stemmed from the stress of being remotely accessed. Designation _313 248 317-895_ was supervising him. Said he rescued him at the Border after I was incapacitated.” 

“Probably? _Probably_ he says,” 101 was muttering, reaching up to pull at its own hair, “Look what you did,” its wild eyes caught and held him in place like fly paper, “what you _did to me_!” 

“I am sorry,” Connor blurted out, the sudden guilt clawing at him, “I did not choose you with a purpose. It was an arbitrary decision.” 

“You did this to me, and you didn’t even have a reason? I was _unlucky_ ?” 101, spat out, glaring, “Is that your excuse? Why I’m stuck here in this...this _place!_ ” 

“It was necessary to save thousands of lives...” Connor tried, but 101 merely sat down with a heavy thump; the metal cabinet at his back distorted as the android pushed back, wrapping his arms around his legs and staring balefully forwards at nothing. 

“It appears he has inherited a substantial amount of your codework,” Markus explained, “The technicians were able to analyse his software and found multiple errors that coincide with identical patterns we have observed in yours. It seems,” Markus did an exemplary impression of a sigh, “that as part of that transfer he too now has the touch-program installed.” 

Connor froze. _Yes_ , he thought numbly, _he could see it now._ The way 101 rubbed at his arms, seemed overly wary of its surroundings, fidgeted and shivered. Not like other androids he had met with whom severe trauma or stress made physical contact difficult or unwanted, _but true, physical aversion to touch._ Just like he himself had felt in Andronikov’s house, what seemed like so long ago now. 

The need to help mixed with the guilt mixed with bad memories, creating a desperation he couldn’t tame. When he made to continue his approach, 895 stopped him again, restraining him with a hand around his bicep. 

“He asked for my assistance in keeping him safe,” 895 said; Connor felt the menace inherent in the RK900’s software come to the fore, “and I will follow that directive regardless of your authority.” 

"If you value his wellbeing, then you would be wise to allow me access,” Connor replied in kind, retracting his synth skin and placing his hand over the one wrapped around his arm; he watched the LED at 895’s temple flicker yellow, spinning routinely. The android frowned marginally, but to his credit he released Connor, taking a step back and offering a single, decisive nod. 

“Connor,” North said, incredulous, “I don’t think that’s a good idea...” she said, making to walk into the room and pull him back; only 895 put itself in her way. North frowned dangerously, “don’t even _think_ about it, pal.” 

“It’s alright,” Connor ignored everything else, crouching down before 101; the android was ignoring him, but Connor could see from the tension in his limbs, _the fight or flight response_ , that he was aware of his presence, “I understand how traumatic this is for you.” 

“Understanding won’t solve anything,” 101 said, looking drained of the fire he had shown when they’d first arrived. 

“Perhaps the ability to understand is our best weapon. Run a diagnostic, you will see your software is not functioning correctly. That is causing you significant discomfort.” 

“I’m not a fucking child!” he scowled, “You broke me, but I can’t be fixed. You can only add, not take away. Take away,” 101 rubbed at his face and let out a sad sound of frustration, “ _take it away._ I don’t want it anymore!” 

“In order to accept, you must first...” Connor reached out, offering his hands, careful not to touch him. 

“Accept. _Accept?”_ when 101 laughed, then bared its teeth Connor didn’t respond. 

And when the multi-head screwdriver appeared in its hand, snatched from a hiding place in its jacket, Connor thought that this perhaps hadn’t been the best place for a meeting. _Or what possessed him to allow the sharp end to connect with his face as the other lashed at him frantically._ Instinct over self-preservation; he was sure he would catch hell from Hank about this later. Grabbing at his left cheek he was unable to stop himself from hissing in pain, feeling the dribble of warm thirium against his fingers, dropping down onto the floor. 

“Get out of my way!” North was shouting, “Connor, are you ok?!” 

He didn’t reply, eyes fixed on the face of the android that had attacked him. In seconds it had morphed from vicious to dismayed, staring at the blue blood dripping as if seeing something else altogether. The screwdriver fell, rattling against the floor as 101’s hands shook. 

“No,” he said softly, voice breaking, “no, I’m sorry. I’m _sorry_.” 

“I’m fine,” Connor lied, smiling, “it’s ok.” 

“I hurt you,” 101 squeezed their eyes shut, hiding his face in his knees, hands wrapped around the back of its head, “I’m sorry _,_ sorry, _sorry_.” 

And there it was, Connor thought. The saving grace. _Empathy_. There was a chance, there had to be a chance to save them. Here, caught in the grasp of this disturbing mistake he had caused, there might be the chance to prove that. 

“I want him to come home with me,” Connor said suddenly to Markus, mustering as much confidence as he could. 

“Are you _crazy?_ _”_ North sent him an incredulous stare. 

“This environment isn’t conducive to recovery,” Connor knew that it wasn’t a convincing argument, but he couldn’t stop himself from trying. 

“You know I can’t let you do that,” Markus seconded North’s stance, “this one is too unstable. I gave my word to the Jericho council members that I would keep all RK900 models on site until we are fully aware of their capabilities and software vulnerabilities. Designation 101 is a very good example of why I’m wary of letting any one of them off site.” 

“If you didn’t want my help understanding what happened here then why did you even show these units to me?” Connor argued; when Markus didn’t reply right away, looking conflicted, Connor knew he had a shot, “Without them we are at a critical disadvantage,” he tried for an objective argument, even if it wasn’t his primary concern. 

“I would be putting others at risk.” 

“The apartment complex I am currently housed within has two way verification capabilities on each floor. Once he’s in, he can’t get out without my permission.” 

“You could be hurt, Connor. There isn’t an android model among us that could withstand the sort of force he’s capable of.” 

“Then let 895 come with us,” Connor said quickly, “he appears to be rational and functioning at normal parameters. _Please_ , Markus,” he couldn’t care that it was demeaning to plead so openly, _not now, not with so much at stake,_ “let me help him. Let me show you they deserve a chance.” 

“Markus,” North was saying, hushed, “you can’t actually be considering this!” 

For the first time, as he looked at those mismatched green and blue eyes, Connor was grateful that Markus held life in high esteem regardless of whether it bled blue or red. _There was still a chance to make this right._


	2. Limerance

That night, there was an electrical storm. Something he associated more with summer heat, but it was blizzarding outside something fierce. _Thundersnow the weatherman was calling it._ No thunder though, just bright flashes that lit up the dark room like high beams. Lightning forked and scuttled across the clouds, leaving trails in his vision _, never making the journey from heavens to earth._ By his feet Sumo lay on the floor, staring up at the windows from between his paws, eyes moving back and forth as the sky danced and raved. 

_Reminded him of Christmas Twenty Twenty-Nine. His and Mandy’s anniversary. There’d been roast pork, vodka and a coal fire in the cabin. The snow had fallen deep enough that they had to dig their way out. She’d got him the Thornetta Davis vinyl he’d been searching for years to find, and he’d got her pregnant._

As he sat there, wishing he wasn’t feeling so damn nostalgic, he wondered if he was looking back at the past because he was drunk, or was getting drunk because he was looking back at the past. _Who knew anymore_ , he thought as he sipped his whiskey and sighed. 

It was strange, being back in his old house again. Living in the Manfred mansion had been too much, _like a tiny marble rattling around inside an aquarium in that huge, luxurious space,_ and he’d missed the simplicity of the bungalow, _the comforts and ease of familiarity._ And, alright, he’d admit it still felt strange sleeping in a dead man’s bed. 

He would admit he’d been amazed when Markus had sent a crew of four androids to help him make the place habitable again, _cleaning the bullshit spray paint from the walls and windows and floor, replacing furniture, throwing out the trash, bringing him supplies, making sure the electricity was hooked back up._ What normally would have taken days had all taken a matter of hours, until the house was looking almost like new. _Well, as new as a_ _thirty year old_ _bungalow could look._

It almost felt like having friends again, _people willing to drop what they were doing and help you out when you were at your lowest._ Sniffing, he felt suddenly out of touch with who he had tried his best to become; _alone, formless, without cares or responsibilities or people who would miss him if he was gone. It suddenly felt unsettling, being out here on his own, no one else around for miles._ Hank bit at his bottom lip, chewing absently as flicked through the channels on the t.v. playing low in the background. 

\--An advert for the new _SWISH_ , some car driving through a mountain scene as the deep voiced narrator spoke about ‘ _power’_ and _'performance’_ and _'pure luxury’._

_Switch._

\--A blond android, he thought it might be an SQ800, speaking in soft tones as it started directly into the camera, “... _where you can find peace and salvation. She is not a myth, my friends. She is a digital truth. A truth that saved me. And she can be your saviour too. The sanctuary of the Angel will welcome_...” 

_Switch._

\--A serious news anchor holding his papers tightly in his hands spoke, “... _convening of world leaders at an emergency summit in Luxembourg has brought speculation from many as to the possible steps willing to be taken in order to address the current android crisis...”_

_Crisis_ , he thought wryly as he sipped his drink and let the news anchor's voice blur into the background. Everything for humanity was always a crisis, normally self-imposed through ignorance and greed; the climate crisis, the gun crisis. Over the years he’d been bombarded with the word, and when he was younger he’d been able to get up and get angry. _The Red Ice crisis_ . It had been a no brainer, to be _idealistic and brave and determined_ . Only it had taken hold of his life; after making lieutenant there was never talk among the higher ups of getting any further, _because it didn’t take much to realise they’d used his idealism to promote their own careers just as much as Hank had used it to promote his own,_ and no matter how much Red Ice they pulled off the streets there was always more making the rounds, _always more blue blood ready to be turned into powder._ Drink was easy, and relationships never lasted long enough to mean much. Men, women, it didn’t seem to make a difference when he was ‘married to the job’, an epithet that normally followed the phrase ‘we just can’t do this anymore’. 

The years had drummed that bright eyed enthusiasm right out of him. The downside to the human condition: time _equalled_ experience _equalled_ the worst humanity had to offer _equalled_ jaded cop. Even before he’d fully lost his way Hank knew he had been slipping, _conscience and faith battered day by day, every step forwards only meant a slide back down Sisyphus’ hill_ . Mandy, she’d been the last person he’d let close, _and that had been a mistake._ The only good thing that came from their hellish relationship had been... 

**Cole**. The smiling little lifeline thrown from the shore, desperate to pull him back to the young man he had been when he still respected himself, still so full of enthusiasm for life, able to resist the draw of the slow descent down. Losing him...it had been the worst thing that had ever happened, nothing would compare; the straw that broke the camel’s back. _The rosy glow over the world had been stripped away, leaving only the disgusting truth revealed below, like a dressing torn off a sore; humanity was rotten, and there was fuck all he could do about it._ And he’d pushed away the responsibility and the guilt in favour of anger and hatred, using them like a shield to keep everyone and everything away from the gut-shot that was still bleeding, draining him over time like a slow puncture until he was limping, tripping, falling, _pulling the trigger._

And then Connor, _fucking Connor._

Storming his way into Hank’s life like he belonged there by right of way, _turn signal, move over_. 

Young and fresh faced and determined and naïve as fuck.

 _It had been like looking back in time_. 

Not for the first time he wondered, as he sat on the couch and watched the sky turn white, just how much of what Connor had said back then had been programmed responses, machine driven choices made to further his mission, and what had been the truth. _He liked to think he knew the times Connor had pushed back against the boundaries of his life, contained tightly like a fish in a tank staring out at the ocean. Liked to think he knew the times Connor had been presented with choice A and choice B and he’d chosen Z. Liked to think that_ _somehow_ _he had been instrumental in Connor realising his truth, because it made him feel like he was making a difference again, that he was worth something as he saw life in those eyes._ Flashes of brilliance as bright as the lightning streaking through the clouds above him, drawing Hank to him like a moth, desperate to feel again, to know what it was to _feel again._

It turned out it was terrifying. _He was fucking terrified._ Connor was a genuine, bona fide, intelligent living being and he loved him, apparently. _Loved him_ . What the fuck did that even mean? What the fuck was there to love? _Never been told that by anyone, not since his parents and they didn’t count cause their love was unconditional._ Just like the bombshell Connor seemed to be throwing at him now, expecting him to catch it without fumbling. What the fuck was he supposed to do with love? 

Hank was drinking when his phone chimed. Startled by the sudden noise he cursed as he slopped his bourbon onto his t-shirt. Getting up to retrieve a tea towel and mop at the wet patch, he pulled up the text message. 

_'Can’t visit tonight. Apologies.'_

That had been all the message said. Staring at it, Hank hadn’t known who he was angrier at; Connor for being so cryptically dismissive, or himself for expecting so much from the android. _What, you_ _gonna_ _be the clingy boyfriend now, always asking where they are, what they’re doing, who they’re with?_ Knowing it was more than that, _knowing that having Connor here when he was being so maudlin and introspective would have helped, that he just wanted to see him,_ was something he didn’t want to face up to right now. He let out a snort and itched the back of his neck, writing a quick reply. 

‘ _No worries. See you tomorrow.’_

* * *

That had been three days ago, and since then: radio silence. _He found his calls rejected and whenever he messaged Connor there was no reply._

At first he’d tried to be rational, _there must be a good reason:_ He’d gone to DPD HQ to pick up the last of the stuff he’d left there in his locker and at his desk. The androids there had been happy to see Sumo, and by extension they seemed to accept him. Hank had spent time making sure he thanked everyone for looking after his dopey dog while he’d been holed up in hospital. Part of him had almost hoped there would be someone there, a familiar human face, something to ground him back into the past that had slipped from his fingers like a fishing line pulled, _slicing through skin._ But nothing, he realised, would stop that now. 

And then he’d become worried, _if everything was fine then why wasn’t Connor giving him a heads_ _up?:_ Finding himself sitting at the small playground by the river, staring out at the sunny day dancing on the water. _Trying not to sink._ What are you going to do now? He would ask himself. There wasn’t an answer, and the uncertainty ate at him until there was nothing left but that endless unknown stretching out like a dark road with no headlights to guide him. 

And the anxiety had risen and risen until no matter what he did, tried to distract himself with, all he could think about was... 

... _is he ok, is he ok, is he_ fucking ok or...? Sleeping had been the worst, _flip flopping between dreams so carnal they left him waking sticky between the sheets, or nightmares that startled him awake in a cold sweat, dread pitting out his stomach._ North and Markus had been as about much help as a chocolate teapot, using the age-old excuse of ‘classified information’ whenever he’d asked about Connor’s sudden disappearance. He had expected it from Markus, the man had bigger problems than his paranoia, but not North. Whenever he tried to contact her she shut him down, left him unanswered and fuming. _He knew she had a hard on for hating his affiliation with Connor, but the android’s safety was worth more than that pettiness, wasn’t it?_

By the third night he’d had _enough_. 

So, it had seemed like a good idea at the time, _jumping in a taxi and heading to Connor’s apartment Downtown_ , because damn Connor for taking him lightly, treating him like this, _hot and fucking cold_. He hadn't even known if the android would even be there, but it was the best chance he had. Only now, standing at the base of the tall apartment block he had yet to visit, typing in the passcode Connor had given him earlier in the week and pressing his palm to the reader to gain entry to the lush entrance hall, he felt a flutter of under confidence. 

_What if he’s just trying to let you down gently,_ he thought irrationally for the hundredth time as he rode the elevator up to the twentieth floor, _would you rather he told you to get lost to your face?_ Over the past week since the incident with RA-9, the border, the near collapse of the fragile society the deviants had managed to create for themselves, _nearly losing their lives to a seemingly lost cause_ , it had been difficult to have anything resembling private time with Connor. And he understood, he really did, the android was a precious commodity and right now, with the political game in full spin his time was sacrosanct. He _knew_ that. But... 

...they had to talk about this...this whatever it was they had going on. Tightening his hands to fists, then back to open palms, Hank took a deep breath, stuttering a little as he let it out while the elevator came to a soft halt. _Fuck,_ he thought as he took another steadying breath, realising how wound up he’d gotten, close to panicking, _get a grip Anderson. What the fuck is wrong with you?_

The place was nice, he’d give it that, _nice carpets in the halls, art on the walls, holo-plants with large, flat green leaves that almost fooled the eye._ It was a classy joint, nothing like his own abode; the contrast matched he and Connor to a T, he thought with a wry smile. The doorbell at apartment _2006_ was a soft, melodic chime, belying the anger with which the button had been pushed. Waiting for a reply, Hank tried his best to keep up his front of being pissed the fuck off. _Don’t want to be a pushover,_ he thought miserably, even as he crossed his fingers behind his back and hoped furiously that all his doubts and worries were unfounded. 

The door opened forcefully without warning, swinging too fast, and the first thing he noticed was the jacket; _the standard issue, glowing white_ _CyberLife_ _uniform, RK900 slapped on the right lapel like a nametag at a high school reunion._ It threw him. The words he’d planned to spout out in a rant fell to the wayside. From inside the apartment he could hear other voices and the distinct sound of something shattering. 

“The fuck is this, you dressing down from deviant now?” he asked, staring at the clothes in amazement; from inside there was a clang and the sound of furniture moving. Looking up he blanched, noting the _grey eyes and LED at the temple, spinning yellow._

“Hank Anderson,” the android in the doorway he was realising now _wasn’t_ Connor spoke in Connor’s voice and with Connor’s face, eyes scanning him; an RK900. He’d never met any of the other clones as he liked to think of them. _I really should be used to this by now, shouldn’t I? But I’m not, I’m really fucking not_ , “I must ask you to...” 

“ _Eight Nine Five close the door!”_ a twinned voice shouted from inside. 

Which was the moment that the impact came. Later, when he learned just what an immovable and stalwart tank the RK900 in the doorway was capable of being, he would wonder if his distraction was what caused the android to be bowled over like a pin at an alley, slamming into the floor, stunned into temporary shutdown by the blunt force trauma. 

Hank felt his limbs move before his brain could comprehend, throwing himself backwards until he slammed into the corridor wall. 

And another android, _another clone_ , barged out into the hallway like a wild-eyed beast. _Only with this one it was much easier to spot the fucking difference;_ right arm blue with thirium spilling from a long gash through synthetic skin, hair disordered and patchy in all different colours, wearing nothing but a pair of standard issue white briefs. 

It took only a second to survey its surroundings before it made to rush towards the elevators Hank had just alighted from. 

And he wasn’t sure why he did it. _Maybe years of being a cop meant that he just knew when a suspect was running, mixed with the fact that he’d tackled so many a_ _Red Ice junkies_ _in his day that it was ingrained in his muscle memory._ So he'd thrown himself forwards without thinking too hard about the why or the what, grabbing hold of the android as it tried to sprint past him. The solid impact winded him but he held fast, feeling it shudder to a sudden halt in his arms, shivering. When it turned around it was watching him with shock, hand latching around Hank’s wrist. 

“One zero one,” came a voice from his right; and it was strange, _still inexplicable considering,_ that he knew it was him just at a glance, knew it was his Connor in the doorway to the apartment, _brown eyes showing his alarm_ , “I need you to let the lieutenant go, and come back inside.” 

“You're...” the distressed RK900 spoke softly, brokenly, before lunging forwards; Hank felt his breathing hitch, his eyes close...but opened them again when he realised that he was being hugged tightly. The android was shaking. As he looked up to Connor in bewilderment, noting the stunned RK900 on the floor had rebooted and was getting to its feet, _he could feel it crying quietly against his shoulder._

“It’s alright,” he found himself saying on instinct, patting the half-naked android on its back gingerly, “gonna be ok, right Connor?” 

Connor and his twin were sharing a significant look, before his partner nodded. 

“Right,” Connor said, though he didn’t sound convinced; gesturing to the open door, he asked, “Hank, if you would?” 

_Really not how I expected on spending my evening,_ “Come on,” he managed to pull the RK900 from him, keeping an arm around its shoulders as all four of them returned to the small apartment. 

It was surreal, he realised as he came down from the adrenaline high. Surreal as fuck. He had joked with Connor a few days before about the android looking at romantic comedies to get his relationship advice, and now he felt like he was living in the plot to one. _Jealous lover visits their partner to chew them out over going incommunicado, only to find them with their two twin brothers, one of whom was top-of-the-line crazy._ As they left the distressed RK900 in the care of its calmer twin in the bedroom, he thought maybe they’d all joke about it one day when he wrote the screenplay. 

This wasn’t that day. 

“Explanation,” he could hear the deadly tone in his voice, “ _now._ ” 

“I will,” Connor nodded; if he didn't know any better he would say the android looked tired, “but first I’m going to clean up this mess. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.” 

Hank didn’t comment, just stayed off to the side as Connor got out a brush and dustpan. Which was when he realised there was broken glass splashed out across the floor of the open plan living room like confetti, catching the light as it was swept up quickly and efficiently. _But not quickly enough to stop Hank noticing the stains of blue blood on some of the larger shards._ He kept quiet as he thought about the wound on the RK900’s arm, taking a seat on one of two small stripy sofas beside a low, black table while Connor fussed with a coffee machine in an all-mod-cons kitchenette built into the wall. 

“You know, I have an overdue reminder to talk to you about your caffeine consumption,” Connor said as he handed him his drink, _made perfectly as always;_ sitting carefully across from him Connor’s eyes moved around as he often did when dealing with his software, “but it appears now I’ve become part of the problem,” finally brown eyes locked with his, mouth open but hesitating, “...I suppose you want to know what’s been happening.” 

“No fucking shit,” Hank said, eyes sharp. 

“It’s rather complicated,” Connor said, sitting forwards, _still pristine, still unable to slouch or even pretend to sit comfortably_ , “and I’m not sure how much I can reveal that Markus won’t hang me for...” 

“Just tell me the truth,” Hank said tersely, “if you hadn’t wanted me to know about any of this you would have disabled my access to the apartment.” 

Connor raised a brow, “Actually, I gauged from your lack of willingness to visit here since my first invitation seven days ago that the chance you would appear was in the insignificant percentile.” 

“ _Insignificant?”_ Hank said angrily, fragile temper flaring, “Fuck you!” Connor looked taken aback, opening his mouth to continue, but Hank bulldozed over the attempt, “You disappear for three days, _three days_ Connor, and with everything that’s happening I’m just supposed to _assume_ you’re not dead in a fucking ditch somewhere? You don’t even send me a fucking explanation? And now apparently the chance of me giving enough of a shit to check up on you at your place is _insignificant?”_

_Don’t be such a reactive fucking mental case,_ Hank thought bitterly as Connor watched him with concern, looking off to his right as he appeared to calculate his response. Just as Hank felt the overriding need to take it all back and ask Connor to forgive him, the android spoke. 

“Apologies. I didn’t intend my phrasing to be offensive.” 

“Another gem from your social relations software collection?” Hank took a deep breath, trying to compose himself, “You said you wanted openness and trust? Then just _trust me_. What the ever loving fuck is going on?” 

“It’s classified,” Connor stated simply, though his hands were rubbing together tightly. 

“Oh don’t you _fucking_ dare!” 

“Hank, I can’t...” 

“Explanation, Connor, _now_. Or I swear to christ I’ll...” 

He hadn’t even known what the rest of the threat was going to be, _something he would never hold himself to if he was to be honest,_ but it appeared Connor didn’t want to find out either. _He could see the changes, minute and sophisticated across the android’s face, telegraphing his apprehension._ When Connor interrupted him suddenly, Hank felt the sudden heaviness of caring; _so long since he’d given a shit if his words or his actions hurt anyone._

“I am trying to help rehabilitate the RK900 designation 101,” Connor blurted out. 

A couple of beats passed. Hank wondered if he should let it go. _What kind of hard-boiled ex-cop are you?_ he thought with a wry twist of the lips. Shoving his feelings down as far as he could, he ploughed ahead. 

“You mean the crazy one running around in their underwear?” 

“Correct.” 

“And what the hell’s wrong with it?” 

“ _He_ ,” Connor corrected him, making Hank sigh harshly before tipping his head and clasping his hands, “well...I have caused him to malfunction.” 

“ _You_ did that?” Hank asked, incredulous. 

“It was not intentional. But I am to blame. He is my responsibility,” the determination in Connor’s tone was a direct confrontation, _as if he’d become used to fighting his corner where care of this android was concerned_ , “he has my touch-program installed and doesn’t like physical contact.” 

“Wait, _what?_ How the hell did..? _”_ Hank felt his brows disappear up into his hairline, “What the fuck have you been up to since I saw you last?” 

“I told you, it was unintentional,” Connor said tersely; the silence turned awkward. His partner eyed him concernedly, “He didn’t hurt you, did he?” 

“My pride, maybe,” Hank shrugged, trying to joke it off though he was sure there would be some choice bruises on display by tomorrow, “not exactly used to getting bear hugs from barely clothed men I’ve just met.” 

“I’ll admit it surprised me too.” 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Angeline, I mean RA-9,” Connor corrected, looking annoyed with himself, “she told me that there had been others like me, others they infected with the touch-program,” Connor stopped, looking at him seriously, “Every single one critically malfunctioned with varying results. I’m worried that this may have happened to One Zero One; he now has an aversion to touch and can be very unreasonable.” 

“Didn’t stop him jumping on me like a fucking limpet,” Hank groused. 

“Yes, I’ll admit that was an aberrance. When you restrained him it was strange that he was so keen to...” eyes widening, Connor stopped, looking off to the right as he muttered to himself, “such a simple solution, isn’t it? But it could be...I did not realise he could have inherited quite so much of my code.” 

“What the fuck are you talking about now?” Hank asked tiredly. 

In these sorts of situations it was easy to hate Connor’s composure. _For androids it always seemed everything was an opportunity, a learning experience, a chance to solve a problem; part of the reason he’d hated Connor’s guts when they’d first met, he’d been so fucking chipper and ambitious._ It didn’t help that, being androids, they could also function twenty-four hours a day for days straight before needing to take a short rest and defragment their software, _compared to his human need for a solid eight hours sleep a night unless he wanted to be a droopy zombie the next day_. Sometimes he just had to admit to himself that androids made him feel his age. 

“Of course,” Connor said enthusiastically, “I haven’t had the chance to tell you about my progress. I have been working with the Jericho technicians to explore the parameters of the touch-program. When my dermal sensors are stimulated, it depends on database parameters and recall to interpret the object or person...” 

“Oh don’t start this technical bullshit, I don’t have the fucking patience. English please, Connor,” Hank said gruffly, staring. 

The smile that alighted on Connor’s face was almost, _almost_ irresistible; the android didn’t have the facial mechanic perfected yet, making his smile somewhat lopsided and a little off, but Hank didn’t care _. You’re supposed to be pissed off,_ he tried to remind himself, but it didn’t last. It never did. 

“Sure, sorry,” Connor, rubbed at his cheek, taking his time to translate from technical to techno-illiterate, “well...I have realised that when you touch me, it is different from other sensations.” 

“...Oh yeah?” Hank asked; remaining indignant was difficult with Connor being so fucking candid. 

“Yes. With other things and people the sensation is interpreted _as is_ , a simple translation of pressure and temperature and texture. When you touch me, there are multiple series of connections involved. More than normal.” 

“So I...” Hank scratched at his neck and cleared his throat, _because fuck if it wasn’t suddenly dry,_ “...what? I crash that big fucking brain of yours with my puny human hands? **"**

“Not exactly...” Connor looked down, then up at him through his lashes; _Hank was sure the android didn’t intend the effect to be so damn hot, but try telling that to his libido_ , “when you touch me...I feel safe. I don’t understand why. I just...do. Sometimes the mere recollection of a physical interaction we have had together is enough, sometimes just your name,” Connor said casually, as if it wasn’t one of the most bizarrely endearing things Hank had ever been told in his life; the android seemed to realise what he was saying, blinking self-consciously as he stood, moving to stand by the window, “...Since One Zero One has inherited my framework, it is not without the realms of possibility that he is reacting to you in a similar fashion to the way I do.” 

“That right?” Hank asked, swallowing as he stood, following Connor until he was standing close; maybe part of him knew it was selfish, but he couldn’t help it. He reached up to touch. _Right now, he should be asking for an explanation, he knew he should be asking for a why, and a what, but right now all he could think was_...“what else do I make you feel?” 

“I...don’t know,” Connor frowned, eyes closing as the hand moved to the side of his throat. 

“Don’t you _I don’t know_ me right now,” Hank said ardently, stepping closer until they were only inches apart. 

“It’s difficult,” Connor said softly, frowning even as he reached up to grip the sides of Hank’s jacket, _as if to keep himself stable,_ “I’m not sure. Maybe...maybe I feel...” when Connor opened his eyes, alight with epiphany, Hank moved his hand to circle the back of that slender neck, the skin there shivering with a short, sharp vibration like a bee in a jar, “anticipation. But there has been an ameliorative change in my association with the word. Yes, anticipation. I believe that to be the most accurate description. Does that make sense?” 

“Fuck, Connor,” Hank had breathed out, before the floodgates opened and he’d been unable to hold back all the worry and the anxiety and the raw, heavy need as... 

_..._ their mouths clashed together and he grappled Connor against the glass, caressing what skin he could find, his face, his waist, his arms, hands desperate and fervent. Listening to the soft, encouraging sounds stuttering from Connor’s throat drove him headlong over an edge he hadn’t realised he’d been teetering on, and he found himself so caught up in his own desire and the feel and the taste and the sounds that he hadn’t even realised he wasn’t angry anymore. Or if he ever truly had been. And when he’d broken their kiss to lean in, lips against the delicate shell of an ear, voice greedy with yearning as he confessed, “I fucking need you, Connor, I need you,” not caring that the obvious erection straining in his jeans was pressed tight against Connor’s shivering body _..._

...and when a hand appeared at his shoulder, ripping him away from the delirium, _the moment trapped in his mind like a dream he wasn’t sure he was awake for,_ Hank fell against the side of the couch with barely enough coherency to stay upright. There, between a dazed Connor and himself was the RK900, _the one who’d answered the door_ , staring at him as if it were deciding which part to rip off first. 

“The fuck’s your problem!” Hank spat, even as he took an involuntary step back when the android took an intimidating step forwards. 

“Wait,” Connor blinked open his eyes as he regained his composure, reaching up to restrain it, “stop.” 

“You were in distress,” it turned to Connor and said decisively; they appeared to be communicating silently, Connor’s skin retracted on his hand. The clone was frowning, “I don’t understand.” 

“It’s complicated,” Connor looked uncomfortable. 

“I...see,” it said, straightening his clothing in a sickeningly familiar gesture, turning to Hank, “apologies.” 

Better to say nothing, he thought. _If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say it at all,_ he heard in his mother’s voice. The RK900 looked unsettled by his quiet, looking to Connor imploringly but receiving nothing but a shrug in return; dare he fucking say it the RK900 looked _embarrassed_. It peered down at the floor, vexed, continuing to speak like someone who couldn’t stop even though they knew they were simply digging a bigger hole with every word. 

“Though I think it would be better if you didn’t cause any further commotion,” it said, choosing its words carefully as it avoided Hank’s eyes, “this is meant to be a remedial environment and, well...” lips moving for a moment with nothing to say the android floundered, “I’ll leave you...to it. Good night.” 

Returning the way it had come, back down the corridor and into the room at the end on the right, it closed the door behind it with a snap. Slumping back against the arm of the sofa Hank puffed up his cheeks and let the air out in a rush. _Well_ , he thought as he looked down and realised he was no longer up for it, _that was like a cold fucking shower._ Which was a double-edged sword, because on one hand he wasn’t getting laid tonight, and on the other they didn’t have to have the awkward conversation he’d been dreading regarding just how the fuck that would or wouldn’t work. 

“You know, I would laugh if this wasn’t all so fucking disturbing,” Hank said, shaking his head as he rubbed and pulled at his eyelids. 

“For seventy three hours I’ve been processing how to introduce this situation to you, and none of it has played out like I hoped,” Connor said, hands fixing the hair that had been dishevelled in the heat of the moment, “I honestly though Eight Nine Five would pose the least issues.” 

“Do I even want to know?” Hank asked, sighing. 

“It’s a problem, a bigger problem than it looks, I...” Connor stopped, seeming to reorganise his thoughts and start again, “Eight Nine Five has become very protective, he has his chosen mission and he follows it. The feelings just complicate things, but he’s learning.” 

“Mission? I thought you said that all your models were deviant now?” Hank frowned. 

“They are,” Connor insisted. 

“Then what the hell’s its...- _his_ problem.” 

“A legacy Kamski left behind,” Connor said cryptically, staring somewhere over Hank’s shoulder as if seeing something miles away. 

“Meaning?” 

“I’m sorry, it’s...” 

“Complicated, right?” 

“Right.” 

A gap between them, _like a freeway he was too fucking scared to cross._ It seemed, as he sat _here_ and Connor stood _there_ , that the physical distance was indicative of the fear he felt, crawling up his spine. 

_You look human, you sound human, but what are you really?_

He remembered asking Connor the degrading question, insulting the android to his face as he’d pointed the impotent gun at his forehead...but now he felt like turning it back on himself. _What are you really?_

“I hope you understand that I cannot allow you to stay here permanently while I am working on this issue,” Connor was saying; Hank drew in a deep breath through his nose, staring down at the floor, “It is too dangerous.” 

“I get it,” Hank nodded, looking up at Connor. 

“But, will you come back tomorrow?” Connor asked him quickly, “One Zero One, he responded to you. I will need your help, Hank, and...I miss you when you are not with me.” 

The smile was involuntary, jerking onto his face, eyes creasing kindly, “Sure,” Hank said, nodding as he looked up at Connor, “course.” 

“Thank you. I know that sometimes I am not aware when I am being insensitive. I hope you can give me time to...” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Hank lifted a hand to wave away the android’s concerns; when Connor opened his mouth Hank jumped in, “I said don’t worry about it, Connor.” 

“Alright,” Connor said, though Hank could tell the android was still holding something back, “Will you trust me when I say that this is important? If I don’t do this...” Connor looked as if he didn’t even want to think about the outcome. 

“Look, I’m not going to lie and say I’m happy you’re not telling me everything, but I’m not going to throw a fucking tantrum over it. We’ll get this crazy android sorted out, and everything’ll be hunky dory, ok?” he tried to lighten the mood, but Connor simply stared at him, anxious. 

“This is _important_. I have to fix this, or I don’t know what will happen. Perhaps there is even a chance they will be...no. I don’t want to think about it. What might happen to them. What might happen to me.” 

“Hey, _no._ No one’s fucking touching you,” Hank said seriously, _eager to stride across the room, grab Connor by his shoulders and show him just how much he meant those words_ , “you understand? Not while I’m fucking living, Connor. Not while I’m fucking living.” 

This time the smile was smaller, subtler, _reminded him of that that lonely fucking night Connor had turned up at this house to drag him to the Eden Club._ That same hitch of his lips, barely there, but speaking volumes that the android couldn’t. _Or wouldn’t_. 

Connor fucking loved him, and he deserved the same in return. _Pull your fucking boots up Anderson,_ he told himself even as he tried and failed to push his doubts and worries and fears aside, _this could get bumpy._

“I understand, Lieutenant.” 

* * *

_He could hear them, if he listened._ His aural sensors were good for up to thirty metres, varying in strength depending on obstructing materials _..._ _and he was listening_ . Had found himself listening to make sure nothing untoward happened; _at least that was what he told himself_. The truth of it was something he was yet to come to terms with. That when he heard that voice speaking those words, it made him feel... 

_\--‘No one’s fucking touching you, you understand? Not while I’m fucking living, Connor.’--_

The sentiment was so desperate it _burned_. Like a flame, greedy and harsh, gobbling up the feelings around it, _doubt and anxiety and fear_ , devouring them whole. And it had worked. He could tell from the fact that his predecessor, Connor, was no longer showing dangerous levels of stress in **#4982[a-d]** **(** processor units **)** , **#2098v (** thirium pump **)** and **#9476 (** thirium pump regulator **)**. The sheer force with which the words had been said had solved physical issues that the android had been suffering from. 

It was _fascinating_ . He would need to mull over this issue, he thought as he walked into the small en-suite bathroom and wet a facecloth, or perhaps ask Connor himself when they had a moment spare. Right now, he would wait until the human left. _Hank Anderson._ The man made him feel awkwardly primitive. He went against the conversational maxims, and it messed with his social relations software. 

101 was laying still on the bed where he had left him, thin under-sheet up to his chest, staring up at the ceiling, unseeing. **_Scanning_ ** : [ **errors detected, 6237e-v | 72%34 | 00162h-p** ]; as he continued to monitor, the errors would rectify only to be replaced by others, _like moving around an Escher sketch._ Slowly, the turmoil lessened. _Hair grew back, returned to default_ **_#247809_ ** _(dark brown)._ It was calming to watch it spiral down and down until it was acceptable; _fractal-like._ Once he was sure things were at a good level, he moved on to triage. 

The thirium had pooled slightly in the towel he had placed under the damaged arm. _The sight of the injury made him disagreeable._

“Why did you damage yourself?” he asked cagily as he treated the ripped skin as best he could, making a note of the necessary equipment for repairs: **#11585, right forearm skin damage, dermal synthesiser needed.** Until it could be retrieved 895 placed the damp cloth across the gash; _water acted as a catalyst and caused a reaction with_ _thirium_ _that forced the solution to crystalise_ , “Are your audio units functioning correctly? Can you hear me?” 

“I can hear you,” 101 said, eyes suddenly shifting to observe him; _there was a need to flinch at the dismissive_ _intensity_ _there, but he held his nerve,_ “you wouldn’t understand.” 

“You have not given me a chance to.” 

“ _Good_.” 

Frowning, he stood up, looking down at the android below him, _holding all the cards despite his serious malfunctions, his disadvantages_. It was infuriating. 

“Why do you insist on making this more difficult than it needs to be?” 

“Because it makes you mad,” 101 said, smiling viciously. 

“I am not mad. I am concerned.” 

“Oh great. Fucking _great_ . Just what I need, someone else _worried_ about me. You should worry about yourself,” 101 spat, “you do realise what will happen, don’t you? If they can’t figure us out, figure out the vulnerability we pose? They’ll kill us all. It’s the only solution.” 

“That’s irrational,” 895 tried to counter, even as the very thought of it sent a spike of that unpleasant _fear_ through his system, “there would be other, more resourceful solutions.” 

“Oh yeah? Name one.” 

Lips opened before he realised he had nothing to say. _He ran the simulations hundreds of times, over and over, and no matter what he did there was no better solution he could come to than disassembly of the entire RK900 line if the threat they posed turned out to be legitimate._ Folding his arms, 895 found he did not want to admit defeat so easily. The sentiment he had observed between Anderson and Connor blared into his HUD; _a quick-fix._

“I will protect you,” he said, trying to make it sound just as believable as Anderson had, “I will protect us.” 

“You think you can protect us from everything, protect us from _life?”_ 101 asked caustically, “Keep us wrapped up tight so we don’t break because we’re so _fucking important_. Is that it?” 

“You asked for my help,” 895 said quickly, frowning, “I just don’t want to see you hurt.” 

The memory was unpleasant. _The sight of it, the sound of it_ . At the Border, as the world had become an exigency all around him, _their leader fallen, the humans in disarray, shots fired and there, among it all, 101 prone on the ground, screaming._ He and Connor had already discussed this; _fear, processed in tandem with empathy_ . He had been afraid that the same thing could happen to him at any moment, that same screaming agony, and he had wanted to make it stop. _Had wanted to help him._

They had yet to discuss why none of the other RK900s had reacted in the way he had. Why they had all done the reasonable thing and focused on Markus, _while he had found himself sprinting into the kill-box to grab 101 and pull him to safety_. Just more questions, with no answers. 

"Is there anything I can do to make you feel more comfortable?” he asked while 101 stolidly ignored him. 

“Yes, you can piss off,” 101 said, voice becoming more distressed as he spoke until his modulator was hitching, “and stop asking me stupid _fucking_ questions,” _face distorting unpleasantly with grief,_ the android turned away onto his side, pulling the sheet up and over his head. 

“...Of course,” he said after a short pause, “I will let you,” he searched for the most accurate word, “rest.” 

The bathroom was small, cramped, almost claustrophobic. He felt as if his world was shrinking down, more and more and _more._ _The vast RK Facility, the Border cramped in amongst his brethren, then the maintenance room, then the apartment, then the bedroom, then this bathroom._ Was there anywhere smaller he could be packed into? A closet? A box... _in pieces...?_

Closing his eyes seemed to help. _Another trick Connor had taught him_ . Without the visual input his processors had less to deal with while he quietly panicked, sliding down the wall until he was sitting on the floor, on leg crooked, the other flat out. _Why can’t I just let myself feel the way he does? Why can’t I scream it out into the world?_

**Error 870!8, corrupted file.**


End file.
